


there's a fire

by chickcheney



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Daddy Kink, M/M, Non-Negotiated Kink, Praise Kink, References to Child Abuse, dumb teenagers in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-16 21:51:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/867000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chickcheney/pseuds/chickcheney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott’s never been one for tact, so when it first starts, Isaac doesn’t really notice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	there's a fire

Scott’s never been one for tact, so when it first starts, Isaac doesn’t really notice.

“Hey,” Isaac breaths out, smile on his face as he slides into Stiles’s cramped Jeep next to Scott. Scott beams back at him and dives in for a quick, wet kiss. 

“Ugh, Jesus, do you have to do that _now_?” Stiles gags exaggeratedly from the front seat, but they both pointedly ignore him.

“So, how’d your day go?” Scott asks after they’ve taken off, slips his hand into Isaac’s like it’s second nature. It’s still not to Isaac, maybe never will be. Scott’s touches are always slow and deliberate, like he’s reaching out to pet a frightened animal, and it’d be insulting if it weren’t so appropriate.

Isaac shrugs and leans against Scott’s side, focuses on where his and Scott’s hands are linked. “Pretty okay. I got my math test back.” He digs around in his backpack awkwardly with his left hand, not willing to break the contact between his and Scott’s linked hands. It’s really fucking stupid, but even after all this time, it still feels like if Isaac lets go, he won’t be able to hold it again.

He pulls out his test with a flourish and proudly shows off the B+ with an almost embarrassing beam he unsuccessfully attempts to undercut with an arrogant smirk. Scott’s eyes light up like fucking Christmas as he pulls it out of Isaac’s hand. The look of appreciative awe on his face as he studies it makes Isaac squirm. “Wow, that’s awesome! Stiles, look!” He pushes the paper up front, almost directly in front of Stiles’ line of vision, and Isaac feels the back of his neck prickle and his chest constrict.

“ _Fucking_ —yeah, okay, yeah I see it! Go Isaac, whoop-dee-doo. Can we not die now?” Stiles snaps, a little hysterical and a lot annoyed, which only makes Scott laugh heartily. 

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Hey, I think this is cause for celebration.” Scott turns in his seat, waving the test by his face with a mischievous grin. Stiles yells _Gross!_ from the front seat, but Scott ignores him. The look of pride on his face hasn’t slipped. “Five Guys?”

Isaac kisses him.

__________________________________________________________

The thing is, Isaac was actually looking forward to going to Five Guys, but apparently that was just an excuse to get Stiles to drop them off alone at Scott’s place. Isaac’s actually really hungry, but he figures he can pester Scott about that later when Scott’s cock isn’t in his mouth.

Blowing Scott is currently the highest item on Isaac’s _Things That Are Kind of Really Fucking Awesome_ list. It’s still a relatively new thing for them, so it’s still got some of its novel thrill. It’s a step up from quick and awkward handjobs, their bodies tucked away in the covers of Scott’s bed with the lights off, trying to be quiet and attentive to the sound of Ms. McCall’s car pulling in the driveway. 

Now they’re pushing it, and so far it’s been excellent. Scott’s a bit amateur at it, too much teeth and too little suction, but Isaac loves it nonetheless. Loves the feel of Scott’s mouth warm and wet around him. Loves looking down between his knees and seeing Scott looking up at him, lips spread across his cock and eyes feral and hungry. Even more, he loves doing it to Scott, loves the taste and heat and weight of his cock on his tongue, loves the bitter taste of precome, loves looking up and watching Scott unravel right in front of him, because of him.

Yeah, it’s kinda _really_ awesome. 

But this time, it’s different.

He can’t put his finger on it. It’s not something overt, something he can pinpoint and call Scott on, but it’s there. The touches are softer, more deliberate. His words are carefully chosen (Isaac doesn’t know what they’re supposed to mean, and that just makes it even more frustrating) and make Isaac blush and squirm and feel lost.

He’s on his knees with Scott sitting on the couch in front of him, his cock hard and pulsing and wet in his mouth. He’s sloppy, making loud slurping sounds that should be a major turn-off, but Scott’s moaning like he’s getting paid for it and it makes Isaac feel _good_. 

He sucks hard as he pulls up for the top and Scott curses out low in his throat, and that’s another thing that’s subtly different: Scott’s _talking_. 

“Yeah, fuck, yeah. Good. You’re so good, baby, _fuck_ —”

Isaac splutters and has to pull off to breathe. It feels like he’s choking—on too much saliva or too much praise, he’s not sure—and the moment he takes to catch his breath is punctuated by Scott’s fingers running through his hair.

“Are you okay?” Scott’s sex-heavy voice comes in from above, and there’s that _thing_ to it again that Isaac can’t put his finger on. He ignores it, shakes his head and dislodges the fingers from it with only a little bit of reluctance. Instead of answering directly, he dives back on, takes Scott down as deep as he can and feels a thrill of control at the punched sound that comes out of Scott’s mouth.

He gets Scott off quick and dirty, and the rush of getting him off quicker than usual has Isaac buzzing. Scott’s off behavior slips his mind sometime into the slippery, come-laced kisses of post-coital bliss.

__________________________________________________________

It takes a while to notice, but Isaac _does_ notice.

__________________________________________________________

Ms. Morrell’s French quiz winds up being a doozy.

Isaac is sure he’s never stress-sweat so much in his young life, but the questions make sense for once and he knows what to do. He turns the paper in and actually feels like he’s done something, which is new, but good. 

He manages to tell Scott about it between mouthfuls of soggy of fish sticks and a flailing Stiles at lunch.

“Dude!” Scott says. “That’s so awesome! You’ve been studying more, haven’t you? I knew that would pay off. I’m so proud of you, Isaac.”

Isaac goes to joke about it—to say something like _Okay, Dad_ —but for some reason that seems too much like treading into guarded territory. So instead, he laughs (doesn’t miss how forced and uncertain it sounds) and picks at the loose threads of Derek’s hand-me-down jeans. The rest of lunch is spent trying to ignore the hot, dichotomous ball of embarrassment and pleasure at the prideful beam Scott keeps trained his way.

__________________________________________________________

“Did you swallow it all?” Scott asks after he's just come in his mouth, words all gentle and deep, and it sounds just like _Did you eat all your peas?_ , Just like the patient fathers on TV that love and adore their sons. So Isaac nods tentatively, still uncertain, and silently opens his mouth and moves his tongue around, showing Scott he swallowed it all, like he was supposed to. It’s partially a joke, of course— _what else would it be?_ — but his heart thumps uncomfortably in his chest anyway. It feels like he should be laughing right now, like this is a joke and he’s slow on the uptake, and the longer he stares up at Scott looking lost and vulnerable the more awkward it’s getting

When Scott threads his fingers through his hair and gives him a proud smile and whispers _That’s my good boy_ , Isaac feels like he’s floating.

__________________________________________________________

They don’t talk about it.

At first, once he finally catches on to whatever it is, Isaac thinks they will, and he panics. It’s embarrassing, but for a while, every time Scott goes to start conversation, he flinches, just waiting for a _Can we talk about your weird daddy thing, Isaac?_ It never happens, though. Scott’s just taken to giving him these _looks_. They’d be judging in the right light, but Isaac isn’t too far gone to contort them into that. They’re just questioning, but what question Scott is asking Isaac doesn’t know, and it’s frustrating. 

But he doesn’t turn around and snap _What?_ like he sometimes feels like doing, because that may mean opening up a conversation on Isaac’s weird issues, and he can’t handle that. Not right now. Not ever, in fact.

They continue not to talk about it.

__________________________________________________________

It doesn’t take long for things to crash and burn, because he’s Isaac, and that’s always what happens to good things in his life, eventually.

He’s got Scott’s cock in hand, teasing the sensitive edge right around the foreskin—it drives Scott crazy—when it hits him. Scott’s leaned back with one hand gripping the ugly throw pillow on the ugly couch in the Pack Den and the other stroking Isaac from the back of his head to the middle of his back. He’s saying _God, Isaac, you’re so good, baby_ and _You’re doing such a good job, always so good to me_ and almost like being physically hit by lightning, Isaac _knows_.

Scott’s making fun of him. 

It sits like a dead weight in his belly.

It’s such a stupid thought that Isaac wants to punch a wall for even letting it enter his mind, for letting it set and fester rapidly, infecting every good thought there. There’s an infinite number of reasons why Scott could be doing this—doing whatever this is—without malicious intent. Rationally, he knows that. But right now he can’t think of any thoughts past the white hot pain of _He’s making fun of me_.

He jumps up and away and stumbles over himself a bit to get to his feet and tries to stare at Scott through all the red.

“Fuck you,” he bites out just as Scott, almost comically trying to yank his pants and underwear up on his hips, bewilderedly asks “What’s wrong?”

Isaac stumbles back and tries to gasp in air through a raw throat. He feels trapped and wild and suffocated, and then Scott’s on him like a fucking second skin. He twists back, catches Scott in the jaw with his elbow by pure accident, but it stings so good right in his gut to watch Scott reel back, shocked and almost as betrayed as he feels right now.

“What the hell?” The bewildered concern is gone from Scott’s voice now, replaced with indignant anger. It makes Isaac’s adrenaline pump, either from the wolf yearning this type of confrontation after being docile for so long, or the satisfaction of getting Scott to be as wild and out of control as he feels right now, to bring Scott down to his level.

Isaac stumbles back on his heels even though Scott is no longer grasping for him. When he speaks, his voice is gravel-rough. “Leave me alone. Leave the fuck alone.”

Some of the nonplussed concern from before creeps back into Scott’s eyes and it’s all Isaac can do not to scream and lunge. He knows he’s being stupid, illogical, feral, but his heart hasn’t stopped constricting since he thought about Scott laughing at him, _mocking_ him, and he holds on to that anger so the crushing grief doesn’t get a chance to dig its claws into him.

There’s a million things he could do right now—he could scream, could fight, could cry and break down and let Scott piece him back together again like he always does—but instead he goes with old instinct and runs.

The look of pained betrayal on Scott’s face is an anchor around his neck as he flees to the wildness of the woods.

__________________________________________________________

When Scott shows up the next day at the loft looking apologetic and holding a pint of Mint Chocolate Chunk, Isaac almost hits him. It’s just so _Scott_ to see his insane boyfriend flip his shit like some psycho off his meds out of nowhere and feel the need to apologize to _him_. In that moment, Scott’s turned back to the punk kid, open and vulnerable, who Isaac could bend and break and bulldoze over to get what he wanted. The cold distance of before, before Scott kissed him moon-drunk and fumbling in the back of Stiles’ Jeep, was as welcome as it was aching in his chest.

“I’m sorry,” Scott says. “I don’t know why or for what, but I am. Can we go somewhere and talk?”

Now they’re sitting next to each other clearing of the woods the pack’s reserved for sparring matches. Isaac had gone easy, pliant in place of verbally apologetic, which Scott seemed unreasonably grateful for. Although it was silently spoken from the get-go there wouldn’t be any actual talking—not about _that_ —so now there’s just silence. Isaac’s amazed he still manages to hold onto his anger, as irrational as it is. As warm as Scott’s hand in his is. 

Scott looks over at him nervously and licks his lips, closes them, opens them, licks them again. “Did I—did I do something wrong? Are you still mad at me?”

And just like that, the anger dissipates. All the hot hair filling Isaac up just sort of wheezes out, leaving him tired and heavy. He tightens his grip on Scott’s hand in his own and smiles automatically when some of the tension eases out of Scott’s shoulders. “Nah, I’m just—tired.” The lie is easy, because Isaac really is never not tired these days, but Scott still frowns doubtfully. 

Isaac is usually quick on his feet with these things. Before all this—before the bite and the pack and Scott—he could hide behind a nonchalant, if not sneaky, facade, like a grinning masquerade mask. But now, Scott just peels him open, exposes him, without even having to try. When he looks at Isaac that way, like he cares and understands, he can almost feel those hands pulling at his skin. It makes his skin crawl as much as it makes his chest warm. “Derek’s been training us a lot more lately, says we need to shape up,” He rolls his eyes and elicits a laugh from Scott. The sound vibrates and tingles in Isaac’s chest. “So, sorry if I’ve been a little more snappy as of late. I’m just really tired, you know? Stressed. That’s all. Don’t worry about it. I’m—I’m sorry.”

Scott shrugs and the movement jostles their linked hands between their thighs. “It’s okay, I get that. Derek can be a real douche, can’t he?” The way he says it is sort of a forced playfulness, and Isaac knows Scott doesn’t believe him, but also doesn’t want to call him on it because Scott’s such a fucking nice _tool_.

Isaac swallows thickly and stares down at their hands, tan on pale, fingers interlaced and tighter than what’s probably necessary. Isaac’s hands are bigger, fingers longer than Scott’s, but he still feels engulfed by Scott’s grip. Protected, anchored, firm and warm and soft. Just like Scott. 

When Isaac looks up again, Scott is staring at him intently, like he’s been doing it for a while. Isaac just stares back and quirks his lips and brow up questioningly. Scott doesn’t smile back, just licks his lips thoughtfully, contemplating, and for a horrible moment Isaac is sure he’s going to bring _it_ up. Going to bring up the thing they’ve somehow managed to fall ass first into, and that thought wipes the smile right off his face, fast. His skin thrums with the need to run, pick a fight maybe. Unconsciously he squares his shoulders and flexes his grip slightly. He doesn’t want to talk about this, and he’ll fight Scott the whole way if need be.

But also, part of him wants to hear it said aloud. Somehow cement that it’s concrete, that it happened, that he’s not alone in this warped little imitation of safety and warmth.

But Scott doesn’t say anything about it, doesn’t bring up Isaac’s fucked up daddy issues and fickle bitchiness, but he doesn’t smile either when he says, “Everyone’s meeting up at Five Guys in a few. I’ll buy you Cajun fries.”

__________________________________________________________

After a while, it feels like whatever the _thing_ that’d crawled up on them is has evaporated, or at least gone dormant.

Everything is back to normal, or as normal as it can be in a town full of supernatural secrets. They hang out at lunch (or rather, Scott and Stiles hang out, Isaac mostly presses against Scott’s side and tries to subtly breathe him in), sometimes Scott comes down to the their training spot and watches him train (much to Derek’s chagrin, but Scott beaming like he’s proud of him every time he beats a personal best is worth the extra miles he has to run for punishment), they still fool around, all awkward fumbling and teenage hormones, but Scott keeps his mouth shut to anything other than _Oh, fuck_ and _Yeah, like that_.

It’s great, it always is. Isaac loves it.

But. 

But he _wants_.

It figures he would start to miss those little showers of praise after he’d blown up at Scott about it. There probably wasn’t even anything to what Scott was doing. They’re young, hormonal, experimental. Scott probably just wanted to try a little dirty talk but was too afraid to bring it up, decided to just dive in headfirst and hope for the best. It was Isaac who twisted it all up and made it ugly. 

That’s always what happens when something starts going well for Isaac: he fucks it up. It’s frustrating and stupid and it _hurts_. 

He sucks it up, though, and relishes the not-normal he's always known.

__________________________________________________________

When Scott finally corners him, Isaac is taken by surprise, though he really shouldn’t be.

“Look, I know I said it was fine before, but we really need to talk about this—”

“I’m not weird,” Isaac blurts out and, god, it sounds so guilty, even to his own ears. Scott starts a bit at the outburst, clearly throw out of whatever zone he’d put himself in to talk about this, then quickly reaches out and grips Isaac’s hand with none of the caution he usually uses. Isaac feels a little more anchored and a little more feral all at once.

“I know you’re not weird,” Scott says slowly. He tightens his grip on Isaac’s hand as if he can get him to believe that through sheer touch alone. And maybe he can, because Isaac’s heart slows down just the tiniest bit.

Isaac feels so exposed right now, so ashamed, and it’s a flashback to living with Dad, getting yelled at for not being good enough, never being good enough, and that white hot sense of shame for being the way he is and—and now Scott knows what a weird little fuck up he is, and god. _God_.

“Hey, hey, no. It’s okay,” Scott coos—fucking _coos_ —and rubs soothing circles on his wrists with his thumbs. It almost pisses Isaac off with how well it works. Scott must be taking a class for this stuff somewhere: _How to Tame Your Crazy Boyfriend with Massive Daddy Issues_. He still puts up a toke fight though, tugging half-heartedly out of Scott’s grip, trying to make him let go. Hoping he doesn’t. 

Fortunately—and damn him—Scott doesn’t let go, only hauls him closer until they’re pressed seamlessly together. Scott’s shorter than him, a fact Isaac loves to point out to watch him flush and grumble, so his chin rests solidly on Isaac’s shoulder, but right now Isaac feels smaller. It’s like Scott is wrapping himself all around him, protecting him from something he can’t see. Protecting him from himself, maybe. Probably. 

They stand like that for a while. The fight-or-flight slowly bleeds out of Isaac’s muscles until he finally relaxes his shoulders in a slump. He’s pressed all against Scott, feeling hard muscle under warm skin through the scratchy cotton of his shirt. The smell of him is all around—grass, puppies, chili cheese fries, and something distinctly Scott—and the wolf inside of Isaac contents itself to this for now, allows him to rest and bleed out.

“I was—I read some stuff online,” Scott coughs out after a few minutes, sounding truly nervous for the first time since this confrontation started. Isaac huffs disbelievingly and Scott lets out a choked sound but keeps going. “No, listen! I was reading some stuff about—about child abuse and stuff because I… uh, I wanted to be able to help you out and stuff, you know? I know it’s, like, none of my business, and I like to think I help you out as is—I do, don’t I?—but I wanted to actually know I was doing something right. Anyway, somehow I got on this— there was this site talking about sex as some sort of healing... thing. Like, it could help you out, you know? And I wanted to try it, but I thought if I came to you with it, you’d refuse and make it into this big thing, so I kind of just... I shouldn’t have, huh? I should have said something. Or not done it at all. I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

Isaac’s head reels with trying to keep up with Scott’s nervous babbling. The anxious hitch in his voice makes Isaac’s chest constrict. You didn’t. Make me upset, I mean.” Isaac rasps out as he curls his hand up through Scott’s hair in a comforting gesture. It’s a little funny how the tables have turned, Scott needing Isaac to reassure him and tell him everything’s alright this time.

“Oh?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Isaac,” Scott’s voice is calm, but uncertain. It makes Isaac panic just a little, because if Scott doesn’t know what he’s doing, then who here does? “Isaac, do you—do you like it? Do you want me to keep doing it? I can stop, if you want. This is all for you, you know. You get to choose.” 

Isaac freezes up almost instantly. His heart starts pounding again, fast enough to make him dizzy. He wants to tell Scott No and push him off, forget about this stupid thing and go fool around in Scott’s bedroom where the sheets smell like Scott and his mind can shut itself off. 

But another part of him has him hesitating to call it off. The part of him that remembers how Scott’s showers of praise made him feel warm and full and happy. Remembers what it was like to feel like he was floating under the beam of Scott’s love and attention. The memories make his skin prickle, not uncomfortably. 

Scott’s heartbeat is thumping unevenly in his ears, as nervous for his answer as Isaac is to give it. Isaac pulls shaky breath to calm himself. Outside a car horn beeps, but they’re both too wrapped up in the thick tension of the moment to scramble away before Ms. McCall comes in. When Isaac finally speaks, it’s soft and slow.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

__________________________________________________________

“A-ah, Christ—yeah. Yeah, that’s it, Isaac. Who’s daddy’s good boy?”

Scott says it like he always says stuff when they’re like this: clean and cut through, nourishing, praising, and not expecting an answer. It’s soothing and, well, fuck yeah, it’s hot but—but it’s so much more. It makes Isaac feel good and sweet all over, makes the sweat on his brow cool and tingle. Sometimes it feels like he could get off just like this, just knowing he’s making Scott happy. Knowing he’s so good for him.

The whole thing is pretty standard now, not something they always do but a welcome change nonetheless. Scott has come not to expect an answer, just talks himself stupid driving Isaac crazy. But Isaac, heart beating loudly in his chest so loud he can feel it thrumming in his hair, pulls off Scott’s cock with a wet plop and whispers a hoarse, unsure, “Me?”

Scott keeps panting, oblivious for too goddamn long, before the loss of sensation over his dick finally registers and his eyes open wider from where they were half-lidded, eyes narrowing in confusion, then widening with recognition. “Wh—” he blinks down at Isaac, then something finally clicks, and the smile on his face is so bright it makes Isaac’s insides clench and thrill, “Yeah? Yeah. Yeah, baby, you are.”


End file.
